One Summer of Mirkwood
by Hippothoe
Summary: In which Legolas finally meets 'her'. However, he'd doubted that it would have been quite like this... Chapter Three: The Arrival
1. When Gwirith Saw Mirkwood

Disclaimer: I merely employ the services of the characters; I do not proclaim ownership to them.

Note: Inform old Hippothoe of you opinions, please. I find it quite disappointing to pour both copious time and effort into fictional works that prompt no reply. Thank you, readers.

--------

Chapter One: When Gwirith Saw Mirkwood

Mirkwood certainly was beautiful, Gwirith admitted.

Golden light sliced through the arching, verdant canopy, dappling Anorian's saddle and the sleeve of her dress. Gwirith observed all in silence. Carelessly, she flicked her braid over her shoulder, ignoring Ithil's frankly curious stare. Mud had flecked her pretty new shoes, discolouring the deeply green material, and Gwirith fought against the colour rising to her cheeks.

The pace of the journey was beginning to seem achingly slow – from Elrond's tranquil Imladris, _her_ tranquil Imladris, to that human settlement that stunk of raw fish (_Dale?),_ and finally, past the great rivers and mountains, to here; to these harsh and twisted trees, tainted by evil, that were now, gradually, fading into the nothingness, and providing shelter for the growth of a forest more enchanting and intimidating than any she'd seen.

Their companions, in turn, did not feel at all inclined to strike conversation. Even Anorian began to bristle, and that had never happened before. Beneath her steed's hooves, snapping and crackling as she gestured Anorian forward, she smelled the freshly moistened soil that lay beneath the litter of leaves, sharp and pleasant and unfamiliar. Her eyes began to sting; she did not want to be intrigued by this new and forbidding place. She wanted to return home, to her little collection of books and colourful pots of autumn blossoms. Who would care for her tiny house while she was gone? Who would be there to cook in her kitchen, to open the windows to hear the music of the waterfalls?

_Nobody._

Gwirth was miserable.

At the head of the travelling party, wallowing in her own stubborn self-loathing, Gwirith saw Vanafindon raise his hand, signalling the wary elves to a halt. "This is where the wardens meet us – here we remain until we are bidden forward," he said, solemn and serious.

The elves then quietly dispersed, some vanishing into the trees to search for firewood, others keeping wordless vigil, patiently waiting for the arrival of the warriors. Vanafindon himself disappeared into the branches of the nearest mallorn, as lithe as the mountain cats that she had read about.

Ithil cautiously approached her, clasping a friendly hand over her shoulder and smiling sympathetically. She spread her cloak over a patch of dry ground, and they both sat, Ithil gazing wonderingly at the sky – or what could be seen of it – and her comrade scowling sulkily. Gwirith knew that she resembled a petulant child, spoiled and selfish, but she didn't reveal that she cared, not even when Glandur wrinkled his nose at her distastefully.

"You know, Gwirith," Ithil began cheerfully, watching as Glandur sidled away, "if you were to simply smile, even in falsehood, you may find that you are actually enjoying yourself."

"I doubt it."

"Why is that, my friend? It is a glorious day, and it finds us in a wondrous place. You should be happy."

"And why is that, Ithil?" Gwirith mockingly imitated. "Why should I be happy? My parents no longer want me with them."

"That is untrue."

"Oh, is it? You did not see the determination on their faces when they tried their absolute best to persuade me to leave, Ithil. You did not see their delight when I relented!" Embarrassingly, she had begun to weep.

"Now I know that that is not true. Nimthiriel and Lithonion love you incomparably."

Gwirith snorted. "They may. But now that they have Miluiel, I am merely an unwanted protuberance to the family – a baggage."

A stunned silence, the soothing twittering of forest birds, and Ithil burst into laughter. "Ah, now I understand. You are jealous, and of your younger sister!"

"I am no such thing!" Of course she was, yet Mordor would freeze solid before she admitted it.

"But, Gwirith, she is only a baby; she has barely completed her first year." Ithil said.

"Do you think that I am not aware of that?" Gwirith said, mortified.

Ithil curled a comforting arm around Gwirith's shoulders. "Stop it, Gwirith. Stop it right now. I want you to smile and be happy."

"So do I," she replied, sighing.

_So do I._

---------

Day faded into dusk, and still the wardens did not come. Vanafindon had returned hours earlier, and had ordered the pots and kettles to be procured, inspected, and hung over the fire for the preparation of the evening meal.

"I believe that they intend to have us wait," he said, addressing the group of travellers. "Do not wander out and away from the camp during the night, and do not leave any uneaten food uncovered. It may attract scavengers."

Gwirith had kept watch over the boiling water that was intended for tea, stirring through the bubbling leaves with a wooden spoon, pouring liberally for anyone who had wanted a drink. "Tea, if you please," grumbled ancient Tathar, whose irritability seemed only to expand with the birth of each new moon. Gwirith complied, unwilling to set kindling to an argument.

When the pot had been emptied and the tea reduced to a cold mince of herbs, Gwirith lifted it from the hook and glanced questioningly at Vanafindon, who nodded his head and gestured to the sky. "Do not be long," he said.

It was not difficult to find the river, an impressive, winding grey ribbon that traced a shimmering line along the trees and roots, and Gwirith soon found herself a dry patch of moss upon the banks of sand on either side of the water. She settled awkwardly onto her knees, cursing the wind, slipping her shoes from her sore feet, and imploring the Valar to be reasonable, to sense her discomfort and direct her back to where she belonged, safely nestled away in Rivendell. It was a fruitless endeavour. She scooped out the remains of the tea, tossing the pulpy, fragrant handful at the rocks, and washed vigorously away at the warm interior of the metal.

Her buttocks ached from an entire day in the saddle, and Gwirith still had not had a moment to have her dinner, or to bathe, or to comb her hair, or to even clean her teeth. She smelled terrible; her gown, now a dull match for the sluggish river trout in colour, was stained and filthy. And that was omitting to mention that her underclothes had not been changed or aired in days.

_Quite a sight you will be, riding into Mirkwood for the first time, _she thought bitterly.

"Yes, quite a sight."

Gwirith shot to her feet. Her fingers shaking, the cursed pot clutched to her chest, she surveyed the trees, her heart thundering. "Who is there? Show yourself!" The blood coursed through her limbs; she could feel it as each enternal second dripped into her veins, pounding into her chest.

A chuckle floated to her ears from above. "Peace, my lady. We had no intention of offending you."

_We? _"I had not realised that I had thought aloud." Faintly, as if from a great distance, Gwirithiel heard her voice falter.

With a flourish, an elf leapt from the branches of a nearby elm, landing upon the soil with a soft _thud;_ Gwirith concluded that the muffled sound was for her own benefit. He was quite tall, she realised, watching as he drew himself upward, a bow of the Greenwood fashion strapped to his back. He appraised her with smiling blue eyes, grinning amiably as a second companion pounced to his side.

"Rather, I had not intended to eavesdrop," the elf said.

"Who are you?"

"My lady, I am Legolas."

--------

Well, I do hope that you enjoyed the Pilot Chapter.

Return to Top


	2. A Revelation Of Sorts

Disclaimer: I certainly do not claim possession of J.R.R Tolkien's genius. I merely...manipulate it to suit my requirements.

I apologise profusely for the atrociously lengthy interval between the two chapters! I have recently undergone the entire tiresome process of what my High School deems 'Roll Over' whilst also being informed that I was expected to deliver a speech to the visiting Japanese students to my school. I do hope that you understand the circumstances.

Enjoy the second chapter.

--------

Chapter Two: A Revelation, Of Sorts

_Legolas!_

Gwirith's eyes widened. "Legolas?" She said, her voice a squeaking whisper. "Not Legolas _Thranduillion_, surely?"

"The very same," Legolas replied. "Son of Thranduil, son of Oropher. I bid you welcome to Greenwood." He flashed her a winning smile, inclining his torso toward her.

"Th-" Gwirith cleared her throat. She matched the gesture with a bow. "Thank you, sir." Son of Thranduil, son of Oropher – and therefore a Prince of Greenwood himself.

"You seem surprised, my lady, at this revelation of my name," the prince said, "and yet I do not know yours." To his side, Legolas' unnamed companion turned to stare at her, as if catching sight of her for the first time; Gwirith looked away, unsure of what to do with herself.

"I am Gwirith, of Imladris," she replied. If the prince had been surprised of her failure to mention her parents' names, he hid it well. At least it will save me from any explanation, Gwirith thought. "The head of my party, Vanafindon, awaits your presence at our camp," she added, more to soften the strain of the moment than for the sake of anything else.

"I know Vanafindon," Legolas said. "It has been many years since he was seen within our halls." He gestured to his companion. "See to it and ease Vanafindon's impatience, Hérion, while I escort lady Gwirith to her camp."

"Yes, Captain," the elf replied with a quiet voice, and vanished into the canopy.

"Now tell me, Gwirith," Legolas said once his companion had disappeared. "Why are you here all alone? The forest is dangerous at all times, and especially at night."

"It was not dark when I left my camp," Gwirith said, defiantly, before she realised precisely whom it was that she addressed and flushed. "And I sought Vanafindon's permission. I had intended to clean my kettle and be gone. I had not expected to meet anyone else, my lord."

"Well, see to it that you never again separate yourself from your fellows, Gwirith. That would be foolish," Legolas said. He moved closer to her, and offered her his arm.

As Gwirith accepted it, the twinkling of the prince's water-blue gaze painting a pale blush to her cheeks, a tiny butterfly fluttered beneath her heart, spreading it wings as if for the first time.

--------

Vanafindon greeted them with a solemn smile, with Hérion at his shoulder, impassive. Or, more appropriately, he greeted Legolas with a solemn smile - Gwirith, he ignored, save for a quick, discreet glance toward her retreating back as she walked away.

"Prince Legolas," he said, bowing humbly. "It is an honour."

"What is this, Vanafindon? Humility? It was barely yesterday when you and I were in Adar's study for setting toads into the Solstice wine," Legolas remarked.

The corner of Vanafindon's lip aquired a sardonic quirk. "I thought perhaps you'd forgotten."

"I highly doubt that, mellon. Had Anon not intervened, I was certain that Adar would have taken the strap to our behinds."

"He almost did."

"True. Your memory is still better than mine, I see."

"Indeed. But that still does not explain why you had us wait so long, Legolas," Vanafindon replied. "Herion here arrived a bare moment before you."

"We had business to conduct with a startled lady," Legolas said jestingly.

"And you were always so gallant with the ellith," Vanafindon responded dryly. With interest he caught Legolas's eye upon the huddled female with the chestnut braid. "_Gwirith?_"

"Yes. That was her name. She is lovely," Legolas said.

"I am sure that she is, mellon," Vanafindon said. "Yet her business is her own and you have not answered my question."

"I have not done so, as you already know the answer. I cannot place my soldiers at risk; you know this. Even now, they await my orders," Legolas said.

"We are neighbours and _elves_, Legolas, not orcs."

"I _know_. And you shall be escorted into the settlements at once. You have my word."

Vanafindon seemed convinced. "Then that is all that I may ask. I suggest that we leave at dawn."

"And dawn it shall be."

"The Valar be with you, Legolas," Vanafindon said.

"And with you, mellon."

Legolas slipped from the encampment as softly as he was able. Herion crouched within the leaves littering the outer ring of the beds, unpacking a roll of linen from his back.

"Remain here tonight, as a guard," Legolas ordered. "Do not allow any elf to leave the camp without your consent. Eru guide you, Hérion."

The elf gestured to his brow.

Legolas left, but not before sneaking a final glance at the little shape that huddled amid a pile of blankets, a faint amber glow reflecting from the sweep of her nutbrown hair.

He couldn't resist.

--------

They rode into Mirkwood early the following morning, as, Gwirith fancied, the ascent of the sun cast pale pink across a startling expanse of blue. Or so it would have seemed had she been at home, peering into her own windows. But she wasn't. Quite far from it, in fact.

Beside her, Ithil cantered to match her pace, her gleaming little head nodding with the remnants of her slumber. It was cold; colder than the faint coolness to which she was accustomed, and Gwirith drew her cloak closer to her chest to warm her limbs. The group was headed by the pair of Mirkwood wardens across whom she had stumbled the previous day, the bright hair of the taller elf visible even amongst the crowding gloom. A further three soldiers sealed the furthest end of the two pronged line formed by the horses.

Anorian nickered softly as her hands tightened around the reins, shifting beneath her as Gwirith's thoughts were drawn back to that moment by the river, when she had seen Mirkwood's prince for the first time, cross and bedraggled from the journey. It was certainly odd, she decided, and not to mention embarrassing.

She had seen him at daybreak as she had been roused, preparing the horses with Vanafindon and tying overstuffed shoulderpacks beside the saddlebags. At that moment, it had seemed as though he were merely a common elf and not the son of the king. Gwirith had found herself strangely wistful.

That had been hours earlier. Now Gwirith sat, _again_, her thighs chafing against the leather of the saddle and an angry fist twining into her hair. She peered behind her, flinching from the pain, wondering who was cruel enough to actually _pull_ her hair, and saw that she had been sitting upon the lower coils of her braid. Flushing red with embarrassment, she shifted her buttocks to free the plait and saw with horror that Glandur had witnessed the entire spectacle.

"You may wish to take care," he said, smiling unpleasantly. It struck Gwirith that he was an elf who expected very little from all around him. She was sorely tempted to misbehave simply to fulfill his low expectations, but settled for merely pulling a grimace as he rode ahead of her.

Ithil sighed softly as Gwirith nudged her awake. "Oh, what is it, Gwirith?"

"You weren't sleeping, were you?"

"Of course not," Ithil answered dryly. "I was merely resting my eyes."

"I apologise," Gwirith answered smoothly. "But we are almost within sight of the settlements, Ithil. I thought it prudent to wake you."

"Yes, well, thank you, Gwirith," Ithil murmured. Her eyes flickered to the canopy, seeming disappointed to be unable to penetrate through it and glimpse the sky above. She stifled a yawn behind her palm. "That is welcome news, indeed. I doubt that I shall last much longer without a warm bath and a soft bed."

"I could not agree more," Gwirith replied. "A nice cup of tea would do wonders."

"Hot soup and bread..."

"An eiderdown pillow."

"Oh, yes," Ithil sighed with longing. "Definitely that. By the Valar, Gwirith, I am black and blue all over from bedding against this horrid ground."

"It is nothing like Imladris. Here, you cannot set foot upon the grass without disturbing a stone," Gwirith said.

Far ahead of her, Gwirith saw the prince raise an eyebrow, and marvelled at how he could have possibly detected such a whisper, even with the aid of his sharp elven hearing. _Perfect - not only are you sore and irritable, yet you have also offended the Crown Prince of the realm. Well done, Gwirithiel._

Her stomach clenched so tightly that she surprised even herself. _Resentment be damned._

"Don't you miss it, Gwirith?" Ithil sighed dreamily. "The scent of the flowers?"

"Oh, yes, I do. So much. I miss my garden, especially. I hope that Naneth remembers to water my roses," Gwirith said. "And my lilies."

"Here we are, feeling sorry for ourselves, Gwirith," Ithil said, humorously cross. "We should be laughing. Your melancholy is contagious."

Before Gwirith could reply, she emerged from the surrounding trees, and the first faint plumes of smoke became visible within the horizon.

"We have arrived."

--------

Farewell.

Return to Top


	3. The Arrival

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Seriously.

I apologise profusely. Not only have I been ill, my mother has also suffered severe sickness, and I have been unable to complete and post the following chapter. Please, I ask that you understand.

Read, and review.

--------

Chapter Three: The Arrival

It was _extraordinary. _

Gwirith could barely keep herself from gasping. She had expected shabby, drooping little houses slapped against a backdrop of baleful grey, for the stories that she had read of Mirkwood and her dangers had been enough to drain the blood from her face. But this -_ this_ was...incredible.

"By Luthien." She nudged Anorian forward, eager to catch another glimpse, jostling Ithil from her reverie.

The cottages that nestled within the grasses of the meadows (meadows in Mirkwood!) overflowed with flowers of all forms - blooming sprays of heliotrope and lavender and grinning iris spilled from rows of window pots and garden beds and blossomed freely within the fields. It was so bright and colourful and welcoming that Gwirith's spirits could not help but lift. It was still far too early for the elves to be at work, but she could hear the thresher's scythe whistling against the grain, and halted to savour the breeze.

The entire landscape was a single, contiguous sweep of riotous red, purple, yellow, and the tumultuous thoughts of warm beds and hot soup and steaming cups of tea did not seem _quite_ so wistful anymore.

"The Valar be praised," whispered Ithil.

Glandur's dappled grey sauntered forward. "Breathtaking, is it not? For all of your wailing, you never paused to think that you may find yourselves surrounded by peace and beauty." He stared pointedly at Gwirith. "Thranduil cares greatly for his realm. Do you not agree, Gwirithiel?"

"That I do," she answered.

"And I am well pleased to hear it." He stared, before continuing, "I expect you to act accordingly when we are met by the people of the village. We may be guests, yet we are not the folk of this forest.You of all people should understand what I mean, Gwirith."

"I do understand," she replied. _No, I do not, I am afraid._ _However, if it shall consequence your speedy departure, I shall not breathe a word. _

The elf nodded, the tranquil expression upon his face unfractured. "Good," he said, and rode away.

"He certainly raised a significant point," Ithil added cheerfully. "You never really did pause to think that your conceptions of this entire journey were entirely incorrect."

"_Mine!"_

"Yes, yours! You deserved all of Glandur's scorn for your stubbornness."

"And what did he mean, 'act accordingly'? When do I not act accordingly?"

Ithil shrugged with feinged nonchalance.

They passed closely stacked piles of straw, undoubtedly for the sheep and goats - she couldn't see any horses aside from those of the travellers - and stared upward into the wide plain of undisturbed blue. The sun had drifted further into the sky, and was casting bright gold onto all that it touched.

_There absolutely nothing to be gained from arguing with Ithil,_ Gwirith surmised, fixing her friend with a gimlet eye, whereupon Ithil opted to canter calmly forward, blatantly ignorant.

Where she safe upon solid ground, Gwirith may have stamped her foot - as it was, she doubted that Anorian would appreciate such a movement, specifically in light of his bristling mood. She didn't know whether it was unintentional, or astronomically _not_ so, but her line of vision suddenly shifted to Legolas, far, far ahead with his silent companion. She felt the tips of her ears prickle.

She mentally chastised herself. _You know nothing of him!_ It was true, of course. She did know nothing of him. But she wanted to. _That_ was certain. Yet there were also countless reasons as to why her fancy - _oh, no_ - of Legolas happened to be utterly ridiculous.

Primarily, his royalty - son of Thranduil Oropherion, legendary warrior, scholar, custodian of Mirkwood. Secondly, well, his_ royalty_. But that was surely enough!

Was it?

---------

She truly was quite pretty, Legolas surmised, watching her bicker with her red-haired friend.

Vanafindon may have stressed that 'her business was her own', but Legolas was doing nothing more than simply watching her. What harm could such a thing do? None. Her hair, he noted, was especially beautiful; long, trailing to her waist, and so uniquely dark. He had glimsped it the previous night, cloaked among the shadows, and thought it fine indeed, and now here she was, within broad daylight, that very hair a rope as thick as a man's wrist and shining gloriously.

Legolas hoped to approach her as soon as they reached the halls, and to perhaps invite her for an evening walk, or a visit to the green where the younger elves gathered to enjoy music and be merry. Now was not the time, certainly - he was tired, unclean and yearned for nothing more than to return home. But, soon. There was plentiful time.

The villages at the outskirts of the inner settlements had appeared into view, the sight heart-warming as the sun rose. It shouldn't be too long before Vanafindon no longer required his services. His father was expecting him.

Almost eerily in tune with the train of his thoughts, Herion signalled Vanafindon's advance.

"The leader of the Imladris elves approaches, my lord."

"Thank you, Herion."

"I must admit, I was beginning to become anxious," Vanafindon said, smiling ruefully as he rode beside Legolas. "We are well within sight of the villages. My commendations to you, mellon."

"They are undeserved. You were a wholly unpleasant companion. Painfully complanatory." Legolas laughed.

Vanafindon's exaggerated outrage was priceless.

They spent the remainder of the ride within conversation, discussing Vanafindon's betrothed, Legolas' promotion to Captain, the responsibilities of their adulthood. When Vanafindon inquired as to Legolas' promised, Legolas replied that he had not such a one.

"But what of Celith?"

"I do not wish to speak of it." Celith had left for Lothlorien, to live amongst her family, jilting both Legolas and what had remained of their betrothal. She had not written, nor had Legolas attempted to do so. Even if she had taken the pains to write him, Legolas didn't think that he would have replied. They had not parted upon amicable terms.

The matter was abandoned, and Celith forgotten. Laughter rang within his ears.

Vanafindon then said that the majority of his party intended to remain with family before they departed for the Halls; Legolas understood heartily. The autumn revels were scheduled to begin within the month, and nothing would be missed by a more hesitant approach to the centre of Mirkwood.

It was high noon when the Greenwood elves left their homes to greet them, the travellers dispersing to meet their relatives, Legolas himself glad to return to his people. He watched Gwirith embrace a woman with a child, dismounting with care, almost hesitant. She hadn't seemed very happy, neither that dawn nor the previous evening. Odd. He hadn't thought to ask her why. It was none of his concern.

Herion, as was his penchant, waited patiently by his side as Vanafindon addressed Glandur a final time. The elf was due for leave that day. Legolas was not to sample such bliss for another three nights. An excellent warrior Herion certainly was, yet he rarely spoke a word.

He redirected his attention the sweet little elf-maid.

Legolas smiled.

--------

Nerwen's grin was wider than Gwirith had ever seen it, displaying brightly her exquisite rows of even white teeth.

"Oh my, Gwirith! You look terrible," she said, beaming.

"I feel terrible," Gwirith replied, catching her cousin within an embrace. She smelled like pine cones and woodsmoke, which Gwirith decided that she liked. Life within a forest clearly suited her. To her side, her daughter lingered, unsure of what to do with herself. She blushed when Gwirith peered at her.

"Is that Meren that I spy?" Gwirith exclaimed. "By Eru, how you have grown!"

The little girl approached Gwirith carefully, before flashing a smile and launching herself into her cousin's arms. "I have missed you, you know," Meren said. She was small and slight, her hair as golden as her father's. _As golden as Legolas'. _

"I have missed you, too. I am surprised that you still remember me," Gwirith said.

"Yes, she was quite young when she visited Imladris," Ithil added, blue eyes sparkling. She stood with Nerwen, her arm entwined round her friend's elbow.

"Amras and I are overjoyed to have you with us," Nerwen said, addressing them both. "I cannot comprehend how you have never thought to visit."

"We are here now," Gwirith said. "And, I must say,_ we _are overjoyed to have arrived! Travelling is horrid."

Nerwen giggled. "So I have expressed to you. And you have never believed me!"

"We regret deeply our untrusting natures," Ithil said.

Nerwen led them to her home, a small cottage with a fireplace and artistry depicting scenes of both Mirkwood and Imladris, where she sat them down, and plied them with brown bread that tasted of nuts, veal stew and preserved fruits while Meren played with her dolls and responded cheerfully to the questions that were asked of her. Amras, Nerwen said, was a forrester, and worked daily scaling the trees and inspecting the shrubs and crops for signs of disease, or malnutrition. He would not return until the following morning. Both Gwirith and Ithil agreed that they had not enjoyed such conversation since Nerwen had left Rivendell.

"What of you, Nerwen? Do you still practice as a healer?" Gwirith asked.

"Yes, I do. At the moment however, I am enjoying a brief respite."

"Respite?"

"I am pregnant," Nerwen replied, her cheeks flushed with pleasure.

"Oh, that is wonderful, Nerwen!" Ithil proclaimed.

"Why did you not say anything sooner?" Gwirith asked, mortified. "We would never have intruded upon you otherwise."

"Nonsense. I would rather have you here with me than at the halls, alone. They are so vast that to lose one's self within them is no great feat." Her face glowed. Gwirith knew instinctively that any attempt to argue would be futile.

"Congratulations," Gwirith said. "Lord Elrond would be pleased."

Nerwen had once been the lord's pupil. Gwirith's own parents had not thought her aspirations as a creator of medicines to be of the best interest to her. She no longer argued, yet before she had left, she had made a point of visiting the Healing Houses of Imladris as often as possible. Her notebook overflowed with healing techniques and herbal information.

The remainder of the day was spent reminiscing, and chatting, and teasing, and weeping, and complaining, which then prompted Ithil to sniffle loudly and to declare that she had had enough of moping, much to amusement of Nerwen. When Meren was put to bed - albeit reluctantly - Nerwen returned and brewed tea.

"It helps with the sickness. I never suffer it during the mornings, only before bed, after I have eaten," Nerwen explained." It is quite delicious."

Gwirith remembered the sweetness of it even as she drifted into sleep.

--------

Well, there we are.


End file.
